


Hold Tight, It's Just Beginning

by Jocondite (jocondite)



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-01
Updated: 2008-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:32:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jocondite/pseuds/Jocondite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things that are still new and weird enough that his stomach is roiling with nervous excitement and hysteria, and something else scalding and nameless; Spencer always feels like this when they're messing around, completely confused and grasping and desperate at the same time.</p><p>(Ryan's dad is in the hospital again and Spencer doesn't know whether it'd be better to talk about what's going on or to just keep up the veneer of normality. Listen to music or kick his ass at The Legend of Zelda, maybe, because that Spencer can do. Messing around is something else he can do for Ryan.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Tight, It's Just Beginning

"Should I lay an extra place for dinner?" his mom asks, and Spencer shrugs and concentrates on his Gameboy. "Spencer?"

"I guess," he says. "I'm not sure if he wants to do family dinner with the terrible two, and I totally don't blame him."

One of his little sisters looks up from her puzzle over in the corner of the living room and sticks her tongue out. Spencer flicks a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure his mom's busy with dinner, then sticks his tongue out in retaliation, crossing his eyes to make it even more fearsome. The effect is kind of ruined when both of them laugh.

"He is staying over, though," his mom says, not even a question. Spencer really likes that she doesn't need things explained, just takes the facts and comes up with the right conclusions. "I got your dad to put the air mattress in your room, but it's still -"

"Screwed," Spencer supplies.

"-liable to go down in the middle of the night," his mom says smoothly. "So you might end up sharing again; I've changed your bed linen, in case."

"Ryan gets the fresh sheets," Spencer grumbles. "And I bet you're making tacos - yeah, you totally are - just on the off-chance that he wants to suffer through dinner."

"I'm sure he'll want dinner," his mom says, serene.

Spencer plays and loses five games of Pokemon Ruby before he hears Ryan knocks on the door, fifteen minutes after he said he was going to show up. He doesn't bother to save his current game, just scrambles up and into the front hall before his sisters or his mom can, and tears the door open.

"Hey," Ryan says, in his low flat voice, eyes meeting his and then dropping down.

Spencer doesn't know what to say to him now he's actually in front of him, though, so he just stands there for a moment, looking at the inward curl of Ryan's shoulders and the backpack he's carrying in one loose hand, bumping a little against the worn-out knees of his jeans. "My mom made you tacos," he offers finally.

That brings Ryan's eyes startling up again, and he smiles, so Spencer figures it was kind of like the right thing to say, even though the smile's gone an instant later.

-

Ryan doesn't say much through dinner. He's getting on well at school, he tells Spencer's mother; yeah, Bishop Gorman's curriculum is a bit different from Spencer's high school's; yeah, he tells Spencer's dad, he's still playing hockey, he had a practice before school today, even.

Spencer fields most of the questions for him, wound tense and coiled all through dinner, waiting for the veneer of cheery normality to break up. He stares grimly at his mother and father and each sister in turn, just daring one of them to say the word _hospital_ , or even mention anything related to illness, and promising them painful disembowelling with his eyes if they do. (Spencer might have to work on that glare, though, because it just makes his sisters start giggling again.) He can tell Ryan's kind of waiting for it, too, by the way his knee is jiggling half-under the table, and the way he keeps his head down and his mouth full.

It's not like any of them would, on _purpose_ , but the twins are little and they still come out with stuff that makes his mom turn red and look like she wants them gagged; normally, Spencer finds this talent of theirs absolutely hilarious and he's been known to encourage them when it's people like his dad's aunt Catherine, but tonight, not so much. And his parents are _parents_. Parents sometimes think it's their duty to ask questions and be caring when really, all they need to do is just shut up.

As soon as he's finished his own dinner, and a quick glance to his left satisfies him that Ryan's eaten enough, Spencer puts down his knife and fork and announces loudly "Okay, we're going upstairs now."

-

He still doesn't know what he's going to say to Ryan when they get into his room, whether it'd be better to talk about what's going on or to just keep up the veneer of normality. Listen to music or kick his ass at _The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker_ , maybe, because that Spencer can _do._

"You want me to carry your bag?" he says finally when they're halfway up the stairs, and Ryan rolls his eyes at him.

"I've got it." He sticks his arm out and balances the backpack on his palm by one of its straps, not even tightening his fingers around it, the corner of his mouth curving up. "Nothing heavy, you wuss."

"I was being polite," Spencer grumbles, but that's the wrong thing to say because Ryan stops smiling.

"You're never polite," he points out, and Spencer just shrugs.

"You wanna play something?" he says instead. "I've got some new games out, I don't think you've played them yet."

"I guess," Ryan says, frowning a little. Spencer shrugs again, and then, thank fuck, they're at the top of the stairs and down the hall and at his bedroom, and he doesn't have to toss anything else into the conversation right this second.

Upstairs, he barely has the door shut before Ryan leans in and bites his lower lip, and it's not that Spencer is glad about the situation, or anything, but he'd be lying if he said that he didn't enjoy how into it Ryan is on nights like this.

Spencer can do this, too.

He grabs at the front of Ryan's shirt, pulling him in closer, and Ryan tilts his head, mouth opening up under Spencer's tongue. The backpack falls from Ryan's hand and to the floor with a dull thud that Spencer notes only dimly when his hands come up to grab at Spencer, fist in the back of his t-shirt.

"Spence-"

"Yeah," Spencer says, then pauses and clears his throat, awkward. His voice sounds all strange and hoarse. "Yeah."

"Seriously –"

"Seriously, yeah," Spencer says. "Shut up. Really," he adds when Ryan opens his mouth to say something again, and finally closes his eyes and grinds desperately against Ryan's thigh. Ryan's eyes flutter and fly open at the pressure. and he swallows hard, teeth sinking into his lip. Spencer watches his face change and says "Yeah," when he thinks Ryan's taken the point.

"Fuck," Ryan says breathily, and Spencer lets Ryan push him backwards towards his bed, still kissing frantically, a rough awkward blur of hands and mouths and knocking noses because they still haven't gotten their co-ordination entirely down when it comes to this.

Ryan's the first one to stumble over the airbed laid out hopefully and unexpectedly on the floor. " _Fuck,_ " he says again, fierce and hushed at the same time, in a hot rush of air against the curve of Spencer's neck. His hands grab desperately at Spencer's shoulders for balance, and for a second they wobble, a hasty awkward half-waltz of clutching and slipping feet.

"Ssssh, we have to be, like, super quiet," Spencer cautions, trying not to laugh and totally failing. This is still new and weird enough that his stomach is roiling with nervous excitement and hysteria, and something else scalding and nameless; he always feels like this when they're messing around, completely confused and grasping and desperate at the same time.

" _Duh_ ," Ryan says into the curve of his jaw, like he didn't totally make a noise that Spencer had to shove his hand over his mouth for last time.

They make it the last couple of steps to his bed, still freshly made-up with mom-style corners, which does not conform with Spencer's preferred method of pulling his covers up high, throwing his pillows on top, and letting everything underneath shift for itself.

That's what he's thinking of, of all the stupid things, when the back of his thighs hit the edge of the bed, the mattress pressing just above the back of his knees. He sits down abruptly; Ryan follows him in a rush, and there's an awkward few seconds while they squirm and wriggle around until they're lying parallel with the bed, instead of across it. It might be easier to manage if they could stop fucking kissing and trying to tangle and untangle their legs at the same time; it would definitely be faster, but probably much less fun, Spencer decides.

"How do you wanna do this?" he asks abruptly.

Ryan kisses a trail of small sucking bites from his earlobe down the curl of his neck. "Shhh, we're being quiet."

"You're so fucking annoying," Spencer grumbles, part protest and part appreciation of what Ryan's doing with his mouth and with his hand, his long fingers deftly popping the button on Spencer's jeans and tugging down his fly. "Yeah, but."

"I don't know. It's not AP math, we can wing it," Ryan breathes, and then he pushes on Spencer's shoulders until Spencer yields to the pressure and lies flat on his back. He swings a leg over Spencer's thighs, straddling them, and they're both carefully quiet this time.

"Let me," he says, reaching out, but Ryan pushes his hand away.

"I got it. Have you got any –"

"Nightstand," Spencer says. "I think."

"Eh," Ryan says, and spits into his palm, which is so fucking _gross_ , which is somehow so fucking hot. Spencer's given up trying to make sense of this, and the slip of Ryan's hot damp fist on his dick claims enough of his available attention. He lets Ryan do all the work for a couple of minutes, lets Ryan sit sprawled on his thighs and work his hand furiously in the front of Spencer's jeans, watching Spencer's face, a faint crease of concentration between his eyebrows which isn't quite a frown.

Spencer wants to kiss him there, but as soon as he thinks that he can feel his face getting red and hot. Ryan's still just looking at him, measuring, eyes flicking back and forth between what his hand's doing and what that does to Spencer's face, and Spencer _hates_ that. He looks at the ceiling instead, the faded plastic stars a pale sick gray-green against magnolia blankness; at the Lord of the Rings poster hanging slightly crooked on the far wall.

"I'm going to come," Spencer says suddenly. The very first time, he came after Ryan had been rubbing against him for all of a minute, the second Ryan reached for his belt. "Seriously."

"That's the idea," Ryan says, and Spencer looks up at him, finally. The crease between his eyebrows is still there, but his bottom lip looks wet and red, like he's been biting on it. Ryan's ears are pinker than usual, and the more Spencer looks at him, the darker they get; the colour smears along his cheekbones and Spencer just can't stop looking at him.

He pushes himself upright on his elbows, and twists his hips a little, shoving Ryan's hand away. "Asshole," he says thinly. "Why the fuck are you still dressed?" Fucking Ryan. Shirt and jacket and jeans that aren't even unzipped, while Spencer's shirt is pushed up and his fly is down; he fucking _hates_ that, sometimes, being vulnerable when Ryan's still immaculate and in control.

"I don't know," Ryan says quietly, and Spencer can see the shape of his cock hard through his jeans.

"Because you're an idiot," he suggests. "I've got you." He leans forward and kisses him again, taking Ryan's lower lip not-quite gently between the blunt press of his teeth and sucking it into his mouth. He can ignore the urgent pulse of his own dick, _soclosesoclosesoclose_ , and work on getting Ryan's jeans open and his boxers pushed down. Ryan's pretty fucking hard, too, his breath coming sob-fast; the sound breaks off and throttles down when Spencer starts jerking him off, like he's just remembered that they're supposed to be really, really quiet.

Some things about doing this with Ryan are still kind of weird, and hearing him so worked up is one of them; dislocating, not something Spencer thinks he could ever get used to, this unseen side of someone he's known for so long and, he thought, really well. Ryan with his eyes shut and hair sticking damply to his forehead, jaw set and trying not to moan - it's new, it's frighteningly new. It's not something he thinks he could ever get tired of, either.

"Hey," he says, "Ryan." Ryan looks up and Spencer kisses him again, close-mouthed. "C'mon, hey." He grabs Ryan's hand and brings it back to his own dick, and then it's the way Spencer likes best, when he doesn't have time to feel stupid, can just focus on the curled rhythmic slide of Ryan's hand and the small quiet sounds of Ryan still working on getting there himself.

Ryan swears under his breath and pushes his hand away. "Just," he says hoarsely. "Just a second," and shifts until he's lying flat on top of him, his breath hot against Spencer's neck. "Better?"

"Yeah," Spencer mutters back, grinding up against him and letting Ryan kiss his jaw, chin, cheeks, letting him rut his hips frantically against Spencer's thigh until he comes, Spencer's hands cupping his shoulder and the harsh angle of one hip.

Spencer came first. He usually does. He wants to shut his eyes for a while, just stay like that, Ryan draped on top of him; and he wants to be moving out from under Ryan already before it can get weird; he wants some fucking Kleenex.

Ryan breathes against his ear, gone from frantic to still, and Spencer knows he only has about ten seconds before Ryan gets it together enough to shift off of him. They don't – they don't fucking _snuggle_ , ever, but they're still tangled together, Ryan's head half-resting on his shoulder, and for the moment, it's okay.

When Ryan gets his breath back and starts to pull away, Spencer doesn't think; just holds onto him, arms going tight. He couldn't hug Ryan at the door, because they're too old, they just don't do that these days. But he can do _this_ , even though Ryan squirms and wriggles against him and says fiercely "Let me _go_ , man."

Spencer holds on until he stops struggling. Ryan keeps his face firmly turned away from him, pressed into the crack between Spencer's shoulder and his bedroom wall, but Spencer can feel it when he starts to shake.

"It's okay," Spencer says, even though he knows it’s not, so quietly that Ryan can pretend not to hear it if he doesn't want to.

He stares at the faded day-glo stars on his bedroom ceiling, feeling the strangeness of holding someone that's not his mother, warm and rounded and comfortable, or his little, compact sisters, and listening to Ryan's stuttered breathing. He rubs Ryan's back tentatively, and through his thin t-shirt he can feel the sharpness of Ryan's shoulderblades, can run his fingers over the dragon's teeth of his spine.


End file.
